


A Dragon in Chains

by Ramzes



Series: Targaryens: Times of Glory [14]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:31:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between two Blackfyre Rebellions, Targaryens and Blackfyres clash again. This time, the weapons are not swords and arrows but words and secrets. And the Seven Kingdoms might once again pay the price. A sequel to A Dragon Reborn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"We are going to die, we are all going to die!"

"We won't. It's just a storm."

"We are going to drown!"

The wails of the girl who had lost her head completely grated on everyone's nerves. The ship was being thrown this way and there, as if a cruel god had decided to play ball and it had been this way for more than a day. In the light of a thunder, everyone saw how the huge banner with the sun and spear of the House Martell fell from the main mast right next to their hatchway and the next swirl of wind sent it straight into the roiling sea.

Myriah Uller wept anew. "We are going to drown!"

"Stop wailing!" Daenerys scolded her harshly. "With all this salty water around, your stream of tears crowns all!" she added in desperate humour.

The girl kept weeping but her howls went down to snuffling. Everyone was relieved. With these waves bouncing them up and down and the mass of water constantly brimming over the hull to crash against their tightly shut hatchway, the last thing they needed was Myriah's dark premonitions.

"Everyone here?" the Princess asked after they got to their feet in the aftermath of the next huge wave. "Everyone all right?"

Lady Allyrion, born Melina of Volantis, had a bruise on her forehead. Myriah's gown had torn over a nail they hadn't even noticed before. Lady Delonne Vaith was shaking her head, as if trying to gather her thoughts together after being thrown against the wall of the cabin. Ryon was looking around, wide-eyed. Daenerys had barely held him off from crashing into the hatchway.

"I'll go to see what's going on," the Princess cried, to overshout the storm. "I'll talk to the captain. I'll be right back."

"No!" Lady Allyrion screamed. "Don't go, my lady, it's too dangerous. Let me go instead."

"I'll be right back, Melina," Daenerys said and moved to the door step by step, leaning against the wall and cursing mentally the idea to go back to Sunspear by sea. Really, what was there not to like about traveling by land? They could have seen a big part of the Seven Kingdoms; they could have visited Summerhall where Daenerys had always liked going to, for it kept to her dear memories of her childhood when the young Daeron had lived there and she had spent the summers there with his family. But no, they had to go by sea and here they were, in the clutches of a storm that might have sent them all the way to the Summer Sea, for all she knew.

In front of her terrified eyes, a sailor fell overboard, his mouth opened in a soundless scream. She also screamed, could not hear either his voice or hers, so loud was the roar of the wind.

The captain, an old bear of a man and an old friend of Maron's, startled when he saw her. "My lady," he yelled, "go back to the cabin. It's dangerous here. The storm is not at its strongest yet!"

"Where are we, Ser Silar?" she yelled back as he headed towards her. "How are things going?"

Before he could answer, a new giant wave loomed over them. Ser Silar grabbed Daenerys and squeezed her between him and the helm, shielding her with his body as best as he could. For a moment, the helm cut painfully in her skin and insides but then the wave was dissipating and she was still in one piece and still on board. Some of the sailors were not this lucky.

The captain looked at her and flashed her a daring smile. "My lady," he said, "you gave me a memory to warm me up for years to come."

She laughed, grateful for his attempt to reassure her. "What's going on, Ser Silar?" she asked in the brief hush."

"The storm is very harsh but not one of our devices has been broken this far. If we can wait it out, we have a good chance of survival. If not…" He shrugged and looked around, counting with a heavy heart how many of his men the wind had dragged overboard. Again, he looked at her. "Go back to your cabin, my lady," he said. "I cannot imagine what I'd explain to the Prince if I lost you in the sea."

His words sounded very harsh. He was quite hard by nature and in the beginning, all those years ago, Daenerys had not liked him, for he'd been so different to the courtiers she had been accustomed to at King's Landing. She had not understood why Maron constantly invited him in his private chambers, at his table. _How silly I was_ , she thought. _Young and silly._

"I'm going," she said and headed back to find her son looking out through the dark hatchway, horrified and fascinated. Some of the women sobbed softly but after Myriah's outburst of wailing no one made a sound. Lady Allyrion had her eyes closed. She was mouthing a prayer, the ruby shaped as heart on a silver chain that she usually kept out of sight now held to her lips.

The storm kept raging the whole day and night, and the day after that. It was already dawn on the sixth or seventh day of their trial when the ship's movements stilled. Daenerys went out to access the situation. The sky was indigo, and red, and pink, the sea so still that she could have thought the storm had never been – if she hadn't seen the broken masts, the missing pieces of the hulk. Sailors worked fervently to repair them. She sought out the captain.

"We are now closer to Tyrosh than Sunspear, as long as I can say, my lady," he said. "I don't think it wise to land there but it might turn out we have no other choice if we wanted to survive. We'll see."

Before she could answer, the sharp cry of a man in the only surviving mast over their heads startled them both. A ship was slowly coming into their vision. With a sinking heart, Daenerys recognized the black three-headed dragon on red.

* * *

The great hall, lit by hundred of torches, was painted in bright colours crashing each other as spectacularly as the clothes and hairs of many of the men present. Daenerys was stunned – was the youth she had just gone past _green_ -haired? And in a red attire, no less! She had heard that Tyroshi loved bright colours but that! She made a point at not looking around as she went between the rows of tables up, followed by her ladies, her son at her side, to the dais where a single large table sat. She could not help but hear the whispers, though. No doubt Ryan could also hear them, see the craned necks of the men straining to see her, the supposed reason for the whole rebellion and their being here. She raised her chin, refusing to acknowledge that she saw and heard.

At the dais, a man slowly stood up and they locked eyes silently, a Targaryen pride clashing with a Targaryen pride. Neither looked aside.

 _He's so old_ , Daenerys thought, suddenly realizing how much time had passed. A whole life – her life. And his. At King's Landing, it was not so obvious because Aerys and Aelinor, Maekar, Brynden and Shiera were all so fair-haired that the white did not touch them visibly. And Maron – well, she lived with him, shared his life daily, so she did not notice his aging either. Aegor, on the other hand, had changed visibly, the most obvious difference being the white locks in his dark hair.

The silence hung heavily. All conversations in the hall gradually stopped. They were still not looking aside. She could practically read Aegor's thoughts behind the purple eyes so much like hers: _finally, the traitor is here, at my mercy, and I can make her whatever I want her to be._ Yes, she had no doubt that he considered her a traitor for not supporting Daemon's rebellion. But how could she have done it? She had loved Daemon, had wanted to be his wife. But the good of the realm always had to come first, that was why she had refused to run away with him and begged him not to do anything stupid. She had been stunned to realize that she had not mattered in the great scheme of things as much as she had thought. Daemon had still rebelled. Yet, the fact that she was not at her side deprived him of part of the support he could have otherwise counted at. Now, many years wiser, she doubted whether it had ever really been about her. Of course, that did not matter right now – all those gathered here believed it was and it was Tyrosh, the home of the Golden Company. Not Sunspear and not King's Landing.

She was surprised when Aegor finally looked aside. Maybe he had melted with age? From what they heard from their informers it was not the case but maybe his recent illness had affected him? Then, he looked at her again and he was the Bittersteel she knew. This man would never give up.

"Sister," he said smoothly and raised her hand to his lips. Daenerys did not draw it back. "What an honour to have you as my… guest."

"I hope I won't burden you for long," she replied. "As soon as our ship is repaired, we'll leave."

He gave her a look of irony. "Why are you in such a hurry? Everyone here is so eager to meet you. You know Haegon, don't you?"

A young man made a step toward them and Daenerys' head reeled. He looked so much like Daemon as she had last seen him that she was suddenly overwhelmed. He kissed her hand and she was suddenly back to reality where she was in the hands of an enemy, along with her youngest and her companions that she was responsible for, and…

"You've been to visit the family at King's Landing?" Bittersteel asked after seating her at the dais. She looked at him steadily, refusing to betray any anxiousness.

"I was going home," she said.

His eyes bore holes in her face. "Indeed. What a thing life it – once, you were so terrified of ever setting a foot in Dorne."

She smiled. "That was before I knew better," she said. "We always fear what we don't know. Such is our nature."

All around the hall, there was a wave of whispers. Aegor and Daenerys paid it no mind, focused only on each other. _This bitch_ , he thought enraged. _He's dead because of her and she dares talk as if she's so happy with the result._ Daenerys wished she could scream into his face that it was him who was guilty for Daemon's death, for Daemon would have never thought to rebel if Aegor hadn't planted the idea in his head. Yes, he had been prideful. Yes, he had been scornful of the fact that he was only a bastard, albeit a legitimized one. Yes, he had despised Daeron for not being a shiny knight from bards' songs. But he would have never rebelled. He had been actually quite fond of Daeron in the beginning, before Aegor, Fireball and all those disgruntled Houses had started pushing him into thinking that the crown belonged to him.

He looked at her entourage, all torn velvets and stained silks. At least the ladies had had the chance to comb their hair before they were brought here. "Won't you introduce us to your companions?" he asked.

 _To give you the information which Dornish Houses you can now blackmail_ , Daenerys thought but of course, she had no choice.

Aegor was looking at a middle-aged woman at the far end of the group. "A sister I didn't know about?" he asked mockingly, referring to the deep violet eyes of the lady. "As long as I know, Father never traveled as far as Dorne."

Daenerys knew who he was talking about even without looking. "This is Lady Allyrion," she said. "She was born Lady Aletta Dayne of Starfall and they are famous for their violet eyes."

Bittersteel looked at her, eyes narrowed. She was being strange – she was talking too much. Daenerys noticed his look but before she could say anything, Ryon made a step forward and all eyes fell on him.

"And who might be this, sister?" Aegor asked, almost lazily.

Daenerys raised her chin. "This is my son," she said proudly. "Ryon Martell, Prince of Dorne."

"Ah." Bittersteel looked at the boy up and down and gave Daenerys another look of irony. "It seems that he carries nothing of our blood. What a pity."

"He takes after his father and I am happy," Daenerys said. "Now, if you'd be so kind, we'd like to retire. It's been a long day and the storm took most of our strength."

"Of course," Haegon Blackfyre said. "There are chambers ready for you and your ladies already. You should go to rest as soon as you feel tired."

Bittersteel shot him a dark look. "Not quite," he said. "We wouldn't want to be deprived of the company of such noble companions so soon. Make room for the ladies," he called to his men and the Dornish ladies had no choice but take a seat next to the exiles who would tear the realm apart as soon as they had the chance.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two weeks later…_

"Come on," Daenerys said. "We are going to dinner."

"Do we really have to, my lady?" Myriah Uller asked. "All those men leering at us…"

"Yes," the Princess said coolly. "Absolutely."

But Myriah was far from the only one to feel this way. Daenerys remembered all too well her first impression of Dornish women, all those years ago: that they were all lewd, dressed to reveal and not conceal. The very concept of a woman getting as many lovers as any men without being frowned upon had been shocking to her, yet it was something normal for Dornish women. Until she went there, she hadn't known what a bold tongue tasted like… And now these same women felt embarrassed by the very thought of going to dine with the commanders of the Golden Company. These men were loose and impudent enough to scare even them. And Daenerys felt anything but calm sitting at Aegor's table… She was just waiting for the strike to fall.

But she could not give up, as much as she wanted to stay in the relative safety of her assigned chambers. That would mean to let it show that she was afraid. That would mean to encourage Aegor and discourage her own entourage. And she would certainly not let anyone who was not genuinely ill to stay behind. They needed to keep a brave façade, otherwise they'd break inside.

The rooms they had been given were actually quite comfortable – five bedchambers with a solar and a bath with two tubs. Daenerys had taken Ryon to sleep in her room and the other women had taken the rest of the bedchambers. They had been assigned two maids but they usually preferred helping each other. Still, they took great care to treat the women as good as they could – they might need their good will soon. The Tyroshi who were used only to rough male order seemed genuinely puzzled and flattered by the Dornish ladies' attitude.

"Get ready," Daenerys said. "I must finish the letter to my lord husband."

Ryon scowled. "But Lady Mother," he said. "Why are you writing to him at all? The traitor will read the letter before you send it."

She looked at him and smiled. At his ten years, he still had much to learn. "He surely will," she agreed.

"Then why?"

"Because," Daenerys said, "sometimes the real message is not what is writ in ink but air."

He blinked and shook his head confused. Lady Delonne asked, "You mean, you can use invisible ink?"

"No," Daenerys denied.

"Then how…"

Everyone was looking at her, very interested. She huffed. "You are asking too many questions. Get ready and let me think."

From her window, she had seen a laundress coming and going a few times. She needed to know how often the woman came and how long she stayed, as well as a few other details. They needed to act now, while Aegor was still unaware just how much of an upper hand he had.

* * *

_A week later…_

Anxious and trying not to show it, Daenerys knocked at the door and entered the bedchamber. In the oval looking glass over the dressing table she saw her own concerned face… and a face she did not recognize.

The woman sitting in front of the dressing table slowly turned back and looked Daenerys in the eye. "Well?" she asked softly, scared as always that they'd be overheard, although a few of their jewels had bought the assistance of the two maids. "What do you think? What do I look like?"

The Princess gave a careful inspection before answering. Then, despite her concern, a genuine smile lit her face. "I think," she started slowly but paused and took a deep breath. "I really think the world lost a great performer the day you were born into the wrong family, my dear. You absolutely look the part."

The young woman was really changed. Her long dark hair had lost its brilliance and hung in two greasy braids, tied with dirty ribbons. Her perfect ivory skin was now olive, as if she had spent her entire life in the sun. Her huge indigo eyes now looked round and dark, taking the shade of the dark bodice, her nose thickened with clay and mix of paint and powder. She had no cheekbones to speak of. Her lips were thin and pale. Her skirt was well padded to hide her slender frame. She did not move with her usual ease but heavily, her right shoulder sticking forward, her head bent down.

But she shook her head. "I cannot get rid of the feeling that I've overlooked something," she said and Daenerys grew cold. They couldn't afford any mistakes. She looked at her from head to toes, found nothing.

"Who is this?" Ryon asked behind his mother's back. Although initiated into the plan, he simply had trouble recognizing the beautiful lady in this pitiful creature.

She winked at him and he laughed. "No way you won't have them all fooled," he said admiringly.

"My lady," Myriah spoke urgently from the window where she stood to make sure that the men in the yard hadn't noticed how long the laundress had stayed inside this evening. "Hurry up!"

A few last hugs and a whispered promise to see each other at Sunspear later, the young woman left the chambers and stole up to the servants' quarters – a path that had been dutifully studied in advance. There, she smiled soothingly at the real laundress who would stay hidden until the next day and then leave when the guards changed so no one would take notice that they hadn't seen her coming in.

Taking the two heavy baskets of laundry, she drew a deep breath to calm down her frantic heartbeat and went out into the sun, determined to get the better of their captors. _Don't run, don't run_ , she said to herself as she was making the greatest effort to emulate the heavy steps of the laundress.

* * *

_A few minutes later…_

"Are the rest of your ladies ready with their letters as well?" Aegor asked as soon as Daenerys took her seat at the dais.

"There are a few of them left," Daenerys said. "Frankly, I don't see any use of that. In my letters to my lord husband I give him news about all of us."

He gave her a grim look. She was playing him somehow. He had every letter of hers inspected for all substances that could possibly be used as invisible ink. They had never found anything. Last time, he even had her write in front of his very eyes – and even then, she had somehow deceived him. He felt it within his bones.

"I think their husbands and fathers will be relieved to hear from them in person," he said.

"These lords will be much more relieved if they could see them in person," Ryon cut in and Bittersteel gave him a dark look. He didn't appreciate being interrupted by whelps and this one looked too much like the thrice cursed Baelor for his liking. Had he been his, he would have taught him manners pretty soon but what could one expect from Dornish?

"Why are you in such a hurry to leave us, my prince?" he asked in mocking courtesy. "What is it here that you don't like?"

"The company," the boy said without hesitation, loudly and passionately. "I don't like the company of bastards and traitors to the realm."

His words echoed through the hall. Everyone stared. Bittersteel blinked. Up to this moment, the whelp hadn't been this daring. Didn't he realize that he was at the mercy of his enemy? Daenerys tugged at her son's sleeve but she couldn't hide a slight smile of pride that made Bittersteel even angrier.

They started eating, with everyone's eyes on the boy waiting to see what he'd do next.

A sudden commotion at the door brought Aegor's attention there. Two men entered flanking a slovenly hag of a woman and headed straight for him. He looked from one to the other as they saluted him. "Why have you brought her here?" he asked, disgusted.

"She was trying to escape, my lord," one of the men explained. "We caught her at the last moment. She was pretending to be the laundress… but she isn't."

Now, Aegor gave the pitiful creature a more careful look. When one knew what to look for, there was not much use of make-up. "Lady Allyrion," he said slowly. "Trying to escape."

His eyes went to Daenerys. "Ah sister," he dragged. "Is this the way you repay me for my hospitality?"

She raised her chin. "Did you really expect we'd just sit here and let you do with us whatever you liked?"

He squinted at her. "But why her?" he wondered aloud. "Why not you? It makes no sense..."

Suddenly, he spun around and grabbed the runaway by the shoulders. "Who are you?" he asked, their faces close enough to kiss.

"Let go off me," she hissed.

"Who are you?" he asked again and shook her.

"Let her go!" Ryon yelled, jumped from his seat, ran straight for Bittersteel and bumped into him.

Caugt unaware by the sudden attack, Aegor staggered backwards but regained his balance. Then, he changed his mind, sat in his seat and looked at the hall.

"Anyone who's been at Westeros for the last ten years, come forward!" he barked and a dozen men came near, staring at the woman. Then, one of them gasped.

"She! Maekar's daughter here! Gods almighty!"

For a moment, Aegor's mind went blank. He just couldn't absorb what he was hearing. After all those years of bad fortune, could they really be this lucky?"

"What did you say?" he turned to the man. "Say it again!"

"This one… is Maekar's daughter," the knight said. "Daella Targaryen. Lady Baratheon."

"Do you know her?"

"I do."

"Swear that it's her."

"I swear it."

Aegor's face was lit by sudden, savage joy but it was the fact that it did not reach his mouth that scared his captives most.

"So," he said, looking at the woman, "what do you say to this?"

For a moment, she said nothing. And then, her face suddenly changed in expression of rage and haughtiness. "Rise, Ser Aegor," she snapped. "As low as I have sunken, I still cannot abide Aegor Bittersteel sitting in my presence while I am unseated!"

The silence in the hall was now absolute. Bittersteel shook his head, his face now revealing amazement. "So, it is true," he said. "You truly are his daughter."

He stood up and gave her a mocking bow. "I am afraid I cannot offer you a seat just yet, my lady," he said. "Our chairs are too clean for your current attire."

Now, he looked at her with genuine curiosity, raised a hand and slid a finger across her cheek. She gave him a look as if he was something dirty under her shoes.

"Take your hand off my brother's betrothed!" Ryon Martell yelled.

Bittersteel looked at the tip of his finger and shook his head bemused. "It's truly a miracle what women can achieve with those," he murmured. "I am curious to see what you really look like under all this paint. Should I send for someone to wash you, my lady? Or can you do it alone?"

Again, she glared at him. "I'll manage," she said dryly.

"As soon as you do, come back here. And my lady… no women's tricks this time."

She didn't deign to answer and left, her head held high, with the utmost dignity she could muster with those cushions hampering her movements.

Daenerys looked down at her plate, feeling all too well Aegor's derisive eyes on her. Ryon gritted his teeth.

It was the change in Haegon's expression that alerted him to Daella's return. The young man was staring wide-eyed, speechless. She was approaching the dais in measured steps, her face cast in cold disdain at her surroundings. But she was beautiful and that somehow made up for her attitude. Her skin was flawless, her facial features the most delicate ever seen in a woman. Her dark hair, dried in front of the fireplace, tumbled on her shoulders in radiant waves and her indigo eyes, under the high arches of the eyebrows, through her thick eyelashes, were like a magnet keeping everyone's attention on hers.

"My lady," Haegon murmured and stood up to greet her.

Bittersteel looked as amused as he could which was not much. "I must admit that you had me absolutely fooled," he told Daenerys and sipped at his wine. "I did imagine that she'd look good, with her mother a famous Velaryon beauty and her father not looking that bad either if one could overlook the scars. _That's_ what I expected to see, not the plain old thing she had transformed into with a little paint twice over."

"Daella will be flattered that you think so highly of her, I am sure," Daenerys said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. What had happened to their clever plan! How were they going to escape now?

When Daella and Haegon reached the dais, Bittersteel stood up. "Have a seat, my lady," he said, gesturing at the chair he had had brought in for her. "I am afraid it isn't as comfortable as you are used to in the palaces your family stole along with the throne and the crown but it is something. I believe you'd find our food rather good."

The Princess looked at him coldly. _What a change from that mice-like_ Lady Allyrion, he thought. "The throne, Ser, and the palaces, and the crown have always been ours. As to the food, the bad company makes everything taste bitter. Do you have anything else to tell me?" she asked as she took her seat.

He would have smiled if he could. "I have many plans about you, my lady," he assured her. "And with time, you'll hear about most of them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish a Happy New Year and a myriad of marvelous new things to everyone who read this.


	3. Chapter 3

_A few weeks later…_

Maybe the bracelet would do. Daella was just considering whether to take it off when Daenerys touched her hand and shook her head firmly, leading the younger woman away.

The woman huddled against a crumbling wall gave them a sorrowful look. The child in her lap stirred. Daella turned to look at them. The men guarding the small party started muttering half-disgustedly and half-admiringly.

"Daella," Daenerys said. "You can't save everyone. Don't you realize that here, there isn't anyone to fill your purse when you run out of money?"

Daella realized it only too well. In fact, she _had_ run out of money already and she repeatedly told herself that if they were to escape, she needed to keep a tight lid over her spending. Yet each time a beggar approached, she found herself untying the strings. She simply couldn't tolerate the sight of human suffering without trying to remedy things.

Daenerys sighed, exasperated. She didn't have anything against being charitable but Daella was taking it too far. They would need every coin they had if they were to escape. Daella should stop thinking like a privileged princess because here, she was not.

"Come on," Daenerys said. "I think we did our shopping."

They loved taking walks in Tyrosh, although they were constantly watched by some members of the Golden Company. That broke the monotony of their lives and besides, they could hear a gossip or two in the streets and especially in the market. Not to mention that paying more than their purchases cost was a good way to bribe sellers on their side. Daenerys hoped that in time, their warders would take their guard down. They had to. No men could stand to listen intently to woman talk about fabrics and threads for long without getting bored. That would give them some precious opportunities.

"My lady," a voice suddenly said and Daenerys saw with displeasure that Haegon was standing near them. He looked from Daella to the beggar-woman and made up his mind, giving her a few coins. Daenerys saw his eyes stealing a look at Daella and almost clicked her tongue in disgust. Did he really thing the girl would fall for this? Still, she had to admit that the role of a valiant knight showing mercy to women and children suited him very well.

The beggar-woman started babbling gratitude and blessings. Haegon did not look at her, though – he was still looking at Daella who silently turned her head away.

He looked disappointed. Daenerys would have smiled, had she not been thinking that he was trying too hard to impress the girl. Had he come across them by chance?

She very much doubted it.

* * *

_A few hours later…_

As usual, the Dornish ladies dined with the Golden Company, Daenerys, Daella, and Ryon on the dais. The boy was chatting to Daella about the art of falcontry that he had started learing in King's Landing and she listened to him attentively, trying to pretend that she was indifferent to all those eyes falling on her.

Bittersteel, though, had no intention of letting himself be ignored. "So," he said. "I heard you were becoming quite popular with the smallfolk, my lady. The Good Princess, they call you."

She looked at him, surprised. "Do they? I didn't know."

"They do," he assured her. "Despite your very peculiar attire."

Aegal laughed and Haegon glared at him. His brother shrugged, completely unapologetic. Bittersteel rolled his eyes, exasperated. Lately, Haegon was always quick to make a fool of himself whenever the girl was near. Of course, he could not be blamed for being quite taken with her. Daella took great pains to don only old gowns, outdated by a good twenty years but they could not change her, not when Bittersteel had forbidden any sort of paint on her face. Now she looked at him and although her expression did not change, in the brief flash in her eyes he recognized the hardness of her father.

"You are very much like your mother," he said. "She was a good lady. Really _good_. A beggar only needed to approach her, and she opened the strings of her purse. It was a good thing her husband had access to the wealth of the Iron Throne, otherwise she would have brought him to ruin."

Daella raised an eyebrow. "Am I to take it that you are against others being charitable, Ser Aegor?" she inquired.

'Not in the least," he assured her. "I am just against people who think they are better than the rest of us. Your lady mother plundered our property to indulge her whims, as lofty as they were."

Daella stopped eating, biting back the retort that the Seven Kingdoms were hardly Bittersteel's property. Haegon looked at her. "Generosity is something to be admired, my lady," he assured her and looked pointedly at Bitterstell. "Don't you agree, Ser Aegor?"

Daenerys quickly suppressed a smile. Bittersteel glared at her and then glared at Haegon. Finally, his eyes went to Daella. "I do agree," he said. "Generosity is surely something to be admired. It makes a fine asset to a queen, to be sure."

Albeit prepared that sooner or later the matter would come out, Daella saw the hall blurring around her. She summoned all her strength just to stay in her seat.

* * *

_A few weeks later…_

"So he declared that he'd wed her and make her his queen her one day, since it was obvious that his royal brother would soon die here without fathering any heirs. Bittersteel added that the Seven had sent them the perfect means to end the war and heal the wounds – a marriage that would unite the two sides, resulting in an heir that would carry the blood of both Father and Daemon."

"You seem quite taken with the prospect." With a sweep of his hand, Maekar erased the image of idyllic reconciliation that his brother was painting. "Has it escaped your notice that the throne he intends to offer Daella happens to be _yours_?"

Aerys, wisely, fell silent. Whatever he said now, his brother would interpret it in the worst way possible. No, the fact had _not_ escaped his notice. And no, he liked this prospect no better than Maekar did. But it made perfect sense for those at the other side.

He looked around. Everyone looked extremely concerned. Even Brynden could not hide his dismay fully. Aelinor's face was frozen in her attempt to look controlled. Aegon held Rhae's hand soothingly, his concern undisguised. Rhae's eyes were wide open with fear. Even Aerion did not stir mischief, for once. _Of course he wouldn't_ , Aerys thought uncharitably. _It's his inheritance, too, that those across the Narrow Sea are planning to steal._ Daeron looked even more haunted than usual. Aemon was obviously trying to find a way out of this and failing. Alor Gargalen stood near Aegon and Rhae and she was speaking to him so softly that all Aerys could hear was murmuring.

Finally, Maekar turned to face them. "Go on," he said. "What happened next?"

"Daella did not take it well and made it clear. She said she was promised and she wanted no other man than Alor Gargalen. She wouldn't take Aegon the Conqueror himself if he offered, let alone a traitor and son of a traitor. That she'd rather throw herself in the sea from the highest rock in Tyrosh than even contemplating it."

A broad smile made its way across the young Lord Gargalen's face but died almost immediately. It was a good thing to hear Daella proclaiming her devotion to him in such a way but she was in their enemies' hands. They could exhort her agreement in more than one way. And she had not exactly won their favour with this bold proclamation.

"Oh Seven!" Maekar exclaimed. "Mad, she's mad. Tell me that she didn't really…"

"She did," Aerys said. "As you can imagine, Aegor was furious."

"And Haegon?" Maekar asked. "How did he take being rejected?"

On this account, at least, Aerys could alleviate his brother's fears. "Our spies all say he's smitten with her. He seems determined to win her favour. He was overheard saying that she'd marry him willingly. He's making a great show of courting her, showering her with gifts, escorting her everywhere she wants to go and so on."

'Thank the Seven for this small mercy," Rhae murmured and Alor glared at her, disagreeing in a really bad way. Aerys could see his reasoning – it couldn't be nice for him to hear of another man courting his betrothed, having declared his intention to win her heart. But he sided with Rhae on this: for now, Haegon's infatuation with Daella and knightly tales would serve as a shield for her. But for how long?

"Well, I say she won't give up," Aerion spoke. "She might look meek but she isn't. She's as hard as a horse shoe. The trouble will come when they realize that they won't have her agreement by ingratiating with her."

Alor gritted his teeth. "Gods, brother," Aegon said, very sarcastically. "Thanks for cheering us up."

"I didn't know you wanted to be lulled to calm with sweet lies," Aerion said, not too regretfully.

Maekar put an end to the fight before it even started – there was something particularly menacing in his livid face, menacing enough to make both his sons shut up and look away from each other. "We need to take them back before they realize they won't win her over," he said. Many a woman would jump at the chance of a throne, so it would make sense for the Blackfyres to presume that at the end, Daella would soften. _But when they find out that she won't…_

"Let's discuss it tomorrow, before the meeting of the Small Council, yes?" he said abruptly, bowed and left without waiting for his brother's leave . Aerys shook his head. No doubt he'd go out of the city walls for a ride and return many hours later when he would have had both horse and himself almost dead with fatigue, exhausted enough to have no thoughts in his mind.

The others starting taking their leave, too. Alor stopped at the door when his name was called. Daeron stood up, somewhat hesitantly. "Don't worry too much," he said. His habits were leaving their toll on his drawn face. He looked older than his years, his hands unsteady, his eyes constantly puffy, yet now they seemed suddenly clear. "It won't be so bad. No matter what Haegon Blackfyre and Aegor Bittersteel are planning, at the end the bridegroom will be you."

Alor looked at him, surprised. "How do you know?" he asked.

Daeron smiled faintly. "I dreamed of it."

The Dornishman obviously knew about Daeron's dreams, because he nodded and looked a bit more cheerful. Aegon and Rhae looked at each other. Aerys knew that they, too, had caught what Alor Gargalen did not know: at the end Alor might marry Daella but Daeron hadn't seen what would happen _before_ the end came.

When everyone left, Aelinor relaxed from her stiff posture on the sofa and closed her eyes. Aerys went to the table and poured her a goblet of cherry juice with ice cubs. She took it gratefully. "I'll send someone after him," the King said.

"Don't," she advised, closing her eyes again. "He needs to be alone. In truth, I think it will be better if we don't give him a target to direct his frustration at – it won't be fair to the poor man _or_ Maekar. He'll come back… eventually."

He couldn't believe it. Hadn't she seen just how livid, helpless and scared Maekar was? In moments like this, it was _never_ a good thing to give him a free reign to do as he liked. If anything, he'd be an easy target for anyone who had decided to cut the numbers of Targaryens shorter. "We can't leave him like this."

"We have to leave him like this." She opened her eyes. "Listen, Aerys, it's his life and no one else's."

He stood in front of her. "Hear me out, Aelinor. Listen. I won't pretend I understand what's going on with Maekar because I don't. I never did. But I care no less than you do."

Her face softened. He did care. He was just not very good at expressing it. To anyone. There was more than one reason he stuck to his books – books did not require showing concern adequately. "I know, Aerys. He knows, also."

They stayed silent until the attendants came to light the candelabra, desperately trying to find a way out of this and finding none. It would all depend on Daella and how much pressure could she take.


	4. Chapter 4

_A month later…_

Daella turned her back to the noise from the courtyard and looked at the women who were sewing in their solar. "Is it this hot as Sunspear?" she asked.

The Dornish ladies looked at each other and chucked. Daenerys hid a smile. "Are you hot?" she asked politely. "It's such a nice day."

They were all swimming in their own sweat. Daella could only look at the older woman speechless. Daenerys took mercy on her, suddenly reminded how hot she had been in her few months in Dorne. She followed her to a less crowded couch in the far end of the solar. "I am jesting, child. The truth is, it's too hot even for us Dornish here." She held her embroidery frame in front of her and tsked at a few dropped stitches. Then, she smiled. "I remember when I first arrived at Sunspear to wed Maron. The women had been labouring tirelessly for weeks day and night to prepare my wedding gown, to make sure that I'd feel as comfortable as I could in their sands."

"I am sure it was lovely," Daella said, steadily refusing to even glance at the window she had just left where the officers of the Golden Company were practicing just below them in the courtyard. "I cannot imagine anything looking bad on you."

Daenerys shook her head and blushed… with unease? Now the young woman's attention was fully drawn to her. Daenerys did not look at her, though. Daella understood.

"You refused to put it on."

Daenerys looked at her steadily. "I did not want a Dornish gown, or a Dornish husband, let alone Dornish sons."

Daella shuddered. There was something in this triple denial that made her bristle with anger. Why was Daenerys telling her that? Was she threatening her? Or warning her? What was it?

"You look remarkably well-adjusted, my lady," she said, coldly. "I wonder what the Prince would think if he could hear you."

Daenerys shrugged. "Oh my lord husband wouldn't hear anything he doesn't know. It's not him I am concerned about."

"Me?" Daella asked, confused. "You are concerned about me?"

Daenerys didn't look away. "Haegon is quite infatuated with you, child. He wants to use you to reinforce his claim, for sure, but beneath that, he's sincerely taken by you. And he's quite dashing."

Daella laughed all of a sudden. So that was it? Daenerys was trying to probe whether Daella liked Haegon? He was very handsome. And he aroused about as much passion in her as did Bittersteel, with his sour face. And she had thought her father was brooding!

"Not to me, I assure you," she said. "Have no care. When I stand in front of the Septon, it will be next to Alor. And I am impatient to start preparing for my wedding, not my coronation."

"You'd better be," someone said from behind.

The two women turned as one. Aegor Bittersteel was giving them a mocking look. "How dare you enter my presence without begging for permission!" Daella snapped.

He didn't bother answering. Instead, he slowly went to the window, making the Dornish women step away – well, not all of them. Melina Allyrion looked at him, irritated, and did not move. He sidestepped her and looked through the window.

"Won't you come watch?" he asked.

"I am not interested," Daella said coolly.

"I see," he said. "I recommend that you start cultivating… interest."

His drawl resembled her husband's too much for her liking. Daella's fingers closed in fists but she forced them relax. She would not let him see that he had made her uneasy.

He seemed to know it anyway, for he headed for the door with the air of men who had achieved what he wanted.

And the small mocking smile did not leave his lips for a moment.

* * *

_A few hours later…_

"She seems to get used to this."

"Do you think so?"

In the candlelight of Haegon's own chamber the young man looked wrapped in silver halo that enhanced his fair hair. He looked like the Warrior come alive – just like Daemon, once. And just like Daemon, he was a hopeless optimist.

"She didn't even look at you while you were swaggering below her windows."

"I was practicing…"

"Well, whatever," Aegor said. Of course, Haegon _had_ been practicing. He had been demonstrating his prowess where Daella could see him for weeks. What was to follow, a tournament in front of her windows? The men had already started muttering. Haegon had started making changes, keeping their most capable officers for the sole purpose of showing off in front of the captive ladies. There were cities to be taken, contracts to be made, discipline to be kept – and all that was in turmoil because, obviously, a single look from Daella Targaryen was more important. If only she had looked, at least!

"She's very lofty," Aegor said and took a swig of his goblet. It was strange to think that twenty years ago, he would have preferred horse sweat to it. Now he enjoyed local wine as much as he had once enjoyed Dornish red. "She is, this daughter of Maekar's, for all her pretended goodness. You'll have to break her haughtiness."

Haegon looked away. "How?" he asked. For all his unwillingness to admit it to Bittersteel, he was beginning to despair. Daella let him talk but didn't listen to him; accepted his help but never asked for it; tolerated his presence but never showed any delight to see him. Her brief comments showed her unshakable certainty that she was in the hands of enemies – which they were, just not hers – and traitors – which they most certainly were not. She treated him as a captor, as if he and not the storm had wrecked her ship single-handedly. On the other hand, with each day he became more infatuated. There was nothing about her he didn't like – her generosity, her elegance, her feeling of duty to her ladies, her fierce loyalty to her family… her beauty. She was the wife he had always dreamed of. She was the queen he would place on the Iron Throne next to him.

And she did not want either him or his crown.

"How?" he asked again.

"By force."

Haegon looked at him sharply. "Don't jest about that, Ser Aegor," he said. "Don't."

"Who's jesting?" Aegor asked and then lost it. "Don't you see what you're doing? People say that your father lost his life for a woman and they'll say the same about you with more reason!"

Haegon stood mute. Of course, he couldn't say anything to deny it. Enraged, Aegor started speaking truths without sparing him. "You'll have to break her arrogance by force. There is no other way. Under all her manners and sweet looks, she's as obstinate as her father and that one could be broken only in death… She's your property and you should enjoy her beauty without feeling any obligation. She doesn't want to be your wife and queen? Make her your mistress then! You have to. The men are already talking. For now, they are saying that you're besotted but it won't be long before they start screaming, 'Our prince is weak. He cannot deal with a mere woman and we expect him to deal with the entire host of Westeros?'"

Shaming Daella… Haegon knew what she had gone through in her marriage. The thought of throwing her in bed while she screamed in horror made him cringe.

"No," he said. And then again, "No."

He would not dishonour Daella. He wanted to have her at his side as his wife and queen. She just needed to overcome the pain of separation from her home. For a moment, the thought of the young lord she was betrothed to crossed his mind but he chose to chase it away. Alor Gargalen was Maekar Targaryen's choice, not Daella's own. And considering how his _first_ choice of a son in-law had turned out, maybe Daella would be only too happy to stay away from the second one. It was just her feeling of duty that kept her insisting that she loved and wanted the Prince of Dorne's bastard.

Aegor hadn't really expected him to follow his sound advice. The woman had made a full-fledged fool out of Haegon without even trying too hard. And his head was too muddled with songs and tales of chivalry – let alone his father's noble and foolish acts – to act practically. Aegor, though, wouldn't throw their chances to the wind because Haegon was taken by a pretty face.

"Come on," he said. "We need to talk to the red priests."

Haegon who had drunk a little turned sober in the blink of an eye. He looked at Bittersteel with stunned eyes. These fire-lovers were someone the Golden Company had always kept well away from, and with good reason. They were insane, that was it. And they were fond of burning people.

"The red priests?" he asked. "What for?"

Aegor gave him a dark look. "About the wedding gift we'll present your queen with."

* * *

_Two weeks later…_

"The red priests?" Maekar repeated. Of all the things in the world that might stun him into silence, this was the one he had never expected. He was so surprised that he forgot to raise his voice impatiently. "Aegor is getting friendly with the red priests now? What in the seven fucking hells does this son of a drunken whore have in mind? Sorry, ladies," he went on without pausing. "I didn't mean to…'

"We'll survive," Aelinor assured him dryly. Rhae's eyes were very wide. This was one of the very few times she heard her father use some expressions she imagined his host used frequently.

"What deal is he trying to strike with them?" Maekar went on and started pacing around the room. "There must be a deal. And just when they have Daella? I like this timing not."

"No one knows. They keep it a secret, it seems. Our spies could find nothing," Aerys said, looking up from the letter on his desk.

"Are you sure? Look again," Maekar insisted and then crossed to his brother and snatched the letter to check himself, as if he didn't trust Aerys to notice all, as if he expected to find a full explanation neatly written for them to see. Then, he startled. "Are you fine?" he asked. The hand he had brushed with his fingers was so, so cold.

"Yes," Aerys said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," the King said again in voice that showed he had no intention to discuss it further.

Maekar complied and resumed walking, reading the letter. Some passages, he murmured aloud when they looked especially confusing to him. "Ordered… an inventory of the treasury… meeting with old merchant families… inspecting family trees and Valyrian history… buying dragon eggs… heard to talk about royal blood once…"

"Royal blood?" Ser Galend of High Hill suddenly interrupted. Everyone looked at him, startled. They had never seen him this pale. He looked… scared. "Read that again! Are you sure it says 'royal blood'? Is the spy sure?"

He looked so terrified that the others immediately felt terrified themselves. "Yes," Maekar said. "And yes. What of that?"

"He means to try and hatch dragons," Ser Galend said, with absolute certainty. He had been born in Essos, had become a war prize at twelve. That was how he had found himself in Maekar's service. He never spoke about his past life but he knew more about the red priests that he usually let on. In fact, he never mentioned them and if someone else did, he did his best not to listen. They weren't exactly a happy memory in his mind.

Now, his eyes moved from the King to Maekar and then, to Aelinor and Rhae. Finally, he stared at Alor Gargalen who stared back with mounting horror.

"They believe that royal blood is needed to hatch the dragons," Ser Galend said.

"Daella?" Alor somehow managed to speak.

The older man shook his head. "For the Seven's sake, boy, you can do better than that! He wants to wed her to Haegon, not kill her. No, he has the perfect sacrifice to offer, someone hale and hearty, on the brink of youth, in the very beginning of real life, carrying the blood of the Rhoynish line and old Valyria."

"Help me!" Aelinor cried. Rhae had passed out and now the Queen was straining to hold her on the couch.


	5. Chapter 5

_A month later…_

"I don't like it."

Daella gave the older woman a startled look and let go of the curtain she was peeking stealthily behind from at the leaving men-at-arms. "Why?" she asked and looked back at the courtyard. "I, for one, am pleased that they are leaving. Haegon is becoming more insistent by the day. This war with Pentos will keep him occupied, at least."

Their ladies started nodding emphatically.

Daenerys shook her head. She could not explain rationally the primal fear she felt at the very thought that they were to stay here, with Aegor. Sure, Haegon and the others hated Targaryens and felt that they had been wronged by them. But Aegor… He gave back ten times worse to what he received. And he hated Daeron's descendants with passion that surpassed even Maekar's hatred towards him. He felt cheated because Shiera had chosen Brynden. He was ruthless and bothered by no scruples at all, for he believed that what he wanted was the right thing, always. To him, the end justified the means and everyone who suffered meanwhile was just a collateral damage. _Was the grass truly red?_ Daenerys had asked once. _Yes_ , Baelor had answered curtly. Redgrass Field. The field of death. She was sure Aegor felt no remorse, just anger for Daemon's death.

And now Haegon was leaving to honour the Golden Company's contract with the Pentoshi magisters and they would be left with Aegor. As troubling as the young man's passion for Daella was, he had been shielding them from Aegor. Daenerys could not explain how she knew that her half-brother's slow physical decline for the last decade had turned him bitter yet, more dangerous yet. She just did. They were of the same blood. _The same poison_ , as she had heard people whisper in her first months at Sunspear when she had been still weeping for Daemon and refusing to let go, to try and get used to Maron and Dorne. The two of them understood each other perfectly without words.

"Are you saying goodbye, my lady?" Aegor suddenly spoke behind them and Daella instinctively dropped the curtain but managed to stop before she jumped back.

"You're mistaking your wishes for reality, Ser Aegor," she said, turned slowly back and gave him a look that could freeze fire. But not Aegor Bittersteel.

"My lady," he said. "Here, my wishes _are_ reality."

She smiled. "Are they? Well, they are not my reality."

"They'd better be," he said and seated himself in the chair Daella had recently vacated. She lifted the curtain and stared out of the window, this time without hiding. The leaving horses and men left a trail of dust that followed the line like a huge snake. "Do you still hope that you'll get help from Westeros? You'd better forget it. Right now, Maekar has greater worries on his mind. The Seven Kingdoms need help, more urgently than his daughter does."

Daella shrugged. If that was his way of trying to scare her, he was far off the mark. She didn't know whether she believed him about the Seven Kingdoms needing help but if it was true, than she would expect nothing less of her father. For all comforts and luxuries she had been raised in, for all her fine gowns and everyone bowing to her, there was only one thing demanded of her: that when the Seven Kingdoms needed help, she would have to wait. She had been sacrificed once and she fully expected to be sacrificed once again, albeit not if Maekar had the tiniest bit of choice. Still, the thought of not knowing, having no idea what was going on there scared her.

"Aerys is ill, they say," Bittersteel said.

His obvious delight in the words made her sick. It was one thing to anticipate the advantages that Aerys' weakened state would bring to them but there was more to it, a gloating pleasure that was disgusting to watch. Daella felt certain that her uncle had never done a thing to earn such hatred on King Aegon's bastard's part. Maekar yes, easily. She could just picture those two together as children and young men. The Red Keep had been too small to contain them, it was a sure thing. Maekar would have done things to provoke Bittersteel's bad will. But Aerys not, never. He was too engrossed in his books, too kind to deliberately provoke someone, although he could be quite awkward in social situations.

"And that makes you so happy, Ser, right?" she snapped before she could stop herself. "What a lovely Westeros we're going to have if, by any chance, you succeed with those hopeless plans of yours and place Haegon on the iron Throne. A puppet king and a mastermind who takes delight in the misfortune of others whose only fault is that they are his betters. That's, if you outlive my uncle. After all, you have been ailing for the last five years or so."

Bittersteel and Daenerys both gaped at her at the most undignified way. Daella who was always self-controlled and avoided being rude sometimes showed her combined Rhoynish and dragon heritage in a most spectacular way and that reminded them of Princess Myriah's dramatic clashes with her goodfather, King Aegon IV. Myriah had been the only woman he couldn't cower into silence either with his power or his barbed tongue. She gave back the same grief she was given, sometimes not caring about time and place.

The founder of the Golden Company nodded. "You're right, my lady," he said. "I might not have long to live, indeed. That's why I must speed things up, even if the manner I solve the problem is not one to a princess' liking."

Daella swallowed, not liking what he hinted at, never deigning to ask. They were like reflections of each other, indigo eyes against indigo eyes, dark hair against dark hair, fierce pride against fierce pride, Targaryen fire against Targaryen fire _. They could be father and daughter_ , Daenerys thought, suddenly sickened. _She looks more like Aegor than her own father._ Haegon, on the other hand, resembled Daemon very much, yet he looked more like Maekar at this age. He even preferred mace and from Daenerys' remarkably limited knowledge of warfare, his style was just like the Prince's.

 _Life threads so entangled that they cannot be thorn asunder._ Not at Redgrass Field. Not now. Would they ever be free of this curse that forced them to destroy one another?

The sun had not set yet when Daella and Daenerys were separated from their attendants. The ladies were dressed up in rough clothes and ordered to break flax and wash linens. The first blood came before the second hour was over.

"Why are you doing this?" Daella asked, giving Bittersteel a confused look when he visited them next.

"To break your arrogance. You'll suffer the same if you do not become more agreeable."

She laughed scornfully. Daenerys shook her head. She knew Aegor wasn't jesting.

* * *

_A week later…_

It was a cold rainy afternoon when Maekar returned to King's Landing. He ordered a bath and headed for the King's chambers – and almost walked straight into little Duncan who was just jumping from the high sideboard to the near coach, over the marble floor.

Maekar caught him in the air, cold with horror. The child could break his head in no time at all. He shook him angrily. "Never do it again," he snapped.

Far from intimidated, Duncan grinned at him, his teeth shining white against his dark Dornish face. "You are back!" he cried out and squeezed him tightly.

Maekar huffed. Things were not looking good if he could not teach a five-year-old some respect. The Seven knew that at this age, Aegon had not been this presumptuous. Maekar looked around to make sure that there was no one looking at them and sniffed the boy's hair, making him laugh.

"I was going around the room," Duncan explained. "Not touching the floor."

"I see," Maekar said and remembered that he and his brothers had played at this, too, once. Only, it had been exciting then. Now it was terrifying. "Don't do it again," he said again, without too much hope that his grandson would listen. Still, maybe Duncan will refrain when Maekar was in the room.

Not too far from the fireplace, Jaehaerys was making hesitant steps towards his mother's outstretched arms. Maekar smiled at that. Recently, the child had run a fever that had stripped him of his hardly learned walking skills and they had started teaching him again. At the sight of his grandfather, he beamed in a smile that revealed a new tooth. Rhae smiled as well, but she looked exhausted, not even noticing what her oldest was doing. Maekar knew what ailed her, the fear whether she'd be able to keep her youngest child with them. Jaehaerys suffered his maladies so hard that each time they feared that it would be his last.

"Welcome home, Father," she said without rising.

Near the fireplace, Aerys sat in his chair, his rheumy eyes so red-rimmed that the purple was almost drawn in scarlet. His facial features were pained, sagged. Maekar immediately realized that he had taken a good deal of opiate that was just starting to produce its effect.

He looked so changed that Maekar startled and couldn't conceal it. It had been only a month since their last meeting but Aerys looked aged with years. Never the picture of blooming health, he had always been of moderately good constitution nonetheless. Now, it looked as if his skin was too big for his face, falling in heavy folds of pain. _He's dying,_ Maekar realized and made an effort to school his face in his usual stern expression as he came near and bowed.

"Don't bother," Aerys said, slurring the words ever so slightly.

"What?"

"Don't bother to hide your surprise… I know what I look like."

Maekar looked aside. Had he been so obvious? Or… had Aerys been sicker than they had known for longer than he had let on?

"I'm sorry."

A slight smile played across the King's lips, pained but full of sudden mischief. Maekar was unexpectedly reminded how triumphant he had felt when he had managed to make his ever so serious brother to do something unbecoming when they were children. "That's the fourth time I've ever heard you saying that."

Maekar looked at him incredulously. "You've counted?"

"No, I just made the figure up." Aerys' smile disappeared. "Take a seat."

Maekar did. Aelinor rose and started pouring him a goblet but he stopped her. He had been riding since dawn without stopping for a rest; if he drank now, he'd fall asleep right where he was. She nodded and went to the sideboard, her limp more pronounced. With a new pang in his heart, Maekar wished that he hadn't come back at all.

Aelinor returned with the water and took her seat back. "I met with Stark at Riverrun," Maekar said. "I promised him a good deal of men-at-arms to help him keep the krakens at bay. Arryn was there, too, I think we can start some negotiations for using his harbor…"

Aerys nodded and for a few minutes, he seemed focused on what Maekar was saying; but then, his eyelids started drooping, his eyes would go again and again at the children who were now playing together. The milk of poppy was starting to work. Aelinor rose and stood behind Aerys; silently, he leaned back against her and she placed her hands on his temples, rubbing gentle circles. Maekar remembered that she had done the same to him long ago, when they were all young and ever so rarely bothered by ailments. There was something soothing in the touch of her hands, although he couldn't say what it was.

He had never seen her doing it to Aerys, though. It seemed that during his absence, they had finally made their peace, returned to their one time sibling relationship, the one they had enjoyed before their forced wedding. He bit his lip, realizing what that meant. Aelinor nodded that he could now stop talking as if there was nothing out of order. Only when he did, he realized that his throat had gone dry and drank from his goblet of water.

"The crotchet-hook," Aerys whispered. Maekar looked at him. The purple-red eyes that met his were wide with horror, staring at something Maekar could not see.

"What?" Maekar asked, stunned.

"It's nothing," Aelinor said firmly, stroking Aerys' hair. "It's all right," she murmured. "It's all right. We're all right now. Sleep. There's no hook. Do you hear me? It's all right. Hush now."

Rhae rose and motioned for the children's nursemaid who immediately took them out. The young woman then came near. Her father took her aside. "What's going on?" he asked. "Since when is he like this? What's the hook he's talking about?"

Rhae started wringing her hands. "I don't know. In the last two weeks, he got worse all of a sudden. His headaches are so bad that sometimes the only thing that can help is the milk of poppy. Still, he insists that he takes it only once a day. When it starts producing its effect, he lives in his past. He makes no difference between Aunt Aelinor and me. And Aegon is Aegon, and you, and Grandfather… Everyone. I don't know where the crotchet-hook comes from but it obviously scares him. He always speaks of blood. I thought you might know…"

Behind them, Aerys' ramblings became softer. Maekar tried to remember what he might be talking about and came up with nothing. He hadn't suspected that his brother _knew_ what a crotchet-hook looked like. He shook his head.

Rhae went on, "And… I believe seeing the children is the part of the day that keeps him alive. He insists on dressing and sitting near the fireplace while they are playing. It is as if he's reconciled."

Reconciled with dying. Suddenly, Maekar was overwhelmed with such fury at the idea that without thinking, he spun around, not knowing what he would say. No doubt it would be something incongruous, maybe even cruel to the dying man.

Instead, he saw that the King was already asleep in his chair. Aelinor stepped back and looked at Maekar. "Help me get him to bed," she said and he obeyed.

Rhae left the chamber silently. Aelinor and Maekar undressed Aerys and tucked him in. "He's going to sleep until midnight," she said, wearily.

"Midnight?" Maekar asked, surprised. "Isn't that too short?"

The Queen shrugged and started rubbing her aching hip – a sign that she was really exhausted. She never did it when there was someone else in the room, someone who could see her. Now, she was too tired to realize what she was doing.

"I'd rather have him sleep till morning but he's adamant that it can be a few hours at most at one time." She sighed. "The thought of wetting the bed in his sleep is too much for him."

"I see."

 _Do you really?_ she thought to herself. Maekar was pretty good at holding the others to standards that he did not hold himself to. In Aerys' place, he would have been no different, yet he now expected their brother to think of his health first and his pride second and would show no understanding, blinded by what he believed was right. He was never the most considerate of men and he could hardly become one now. In fact, his concern would make him even harsher in his behavior. Even more unlikeable. But even so, Aerys would want him here. Aelinor certainly did. Maekar was, as it happened ever so often, brooding, mistaken, lacking any tact but it did not make her angry, on the contrary, it made her tender towards him, for as exacting as he was to the others, he was just as exacting to himself. They needed each other. And soon, it would be only the two of them left.

"Come on," she said. "Let me tell you about the negotiations we're holding with the red priests."


	6. Chapter 6

_The little girl lay huddled up in bed, her head under the covers. She was cold but she did not dare look out and take another covering. It was so dark in the room. The candle had burned out long ago and that meant that giants must have come to wait behind the door. Manticores were surely hiding under her bed and they would grasp her as soon as she poked her head out. But she did not dare fall asleep either, although she was so very tired. The journey had been so long and she had had nothing to do. She had wanted to ride her pony but her septa had decided that it was too cold for her to go out of the wheelhouse._

_All of a sudden, someone pried the covering off her head. She gave a little scream that gave way to relief as soon as she saw that it was her father. He had lit a new candle at her bedside. It was no longer so dark. He leaned over and she clung to him._

" _It's so cold here," he said. "Where is Melyne? She shouldn't have left the fire burn out."_

_He went to the fireplace and made a fire before going back at her side. "By the Seven, you're so cold!"_

_He disentangled her from the coverings and carried her to the fire where he took a seat, still holding her. Soon, she was warm and calmer. She leaned her head against his shoulder and murmured, "It's so strange here."_

_He laughed softly. "Is it? Well, I remember it looked this way to me when I was your age. It's quite different from Summerhall, you're right."_

" _Strange," she murmured sleepily. "Like the Stranger. I want the Stranger to come for me and take me far away… like Mother."_

_For a moment, he stiffened and then his hold on her tightened. "No, you shouldn't," he said and there was a mix of pain and ferocity in his voice. "Please, don't go so far away… like your mother."_

_After this, she did not say anything. Her breath evened out. He rose and carried her to the bed. "Sleep well, Daella," he said and gave her a kiss. "See you tomorrow."_

_He didn't blow the candle out and the fire still burned, bathing everything in light but even so, she was afraid, so she quietly rose and followed him through the dark castle, hiding behind the turns. It was not hard because he walked slowly, as if he was in no great hurry to reach wherever he was going. She thought it was strange because her father was never a man to take things slowly._

_In front of a great oak door studded with silver, two guards in white cloaks – Kingsguard – bowed and let him pass. Daella waited for a while and then decided that hiding would do her no good. Besides, she had long ago realized that her father was the only man who didn't always do what she wanted of him. She went down the hall and stopped in front of the door. "Open the door," she commanded._

_She had no idea how ridiculous she looked, with her pink nightgown and long flowing hair, tiny frame and all of four years, looking at them and expecting obedience. "Why are you still awake, child?" one of the men asked but the other shook his head. "This is Prince Maekar's daughter," he said and stepped aside, bowing. "You can pass, Your Grace."_

" _Thank you, Ser," she replied, nodding regally, and entered a long hallway leading to an antechamber. From the other side of the door, she heard voices. One of them was the King's. He spoke as calmly as he had earlier this afternoon when she had been presented to him. Her father, on the other hand, spoke as if he didn't want to be here at all. Daella couldn't understand why. Her grandfather was so kind. He had given her apples and promised her a kitten of her own._

" _Well," her father said. "You've summoned me and I am here. May I know what it is that you need of me?"_

" _I noticed that you weren't too quick to answer my summon," the King said. "I sent for you as soon as I came to my chambers after the feast."_

" _I was otherwise occupied," Maekar answered. "And then, I stayed with Daella for a while. Since Naeryn's death, she's been having trouble sleeping and she's started fearing darkness. Her former nursemaid left her alone in the cold dark chamber. She was terrified."_

_For a moment, the King fell silent. Then, he asked, "Her former nursemaid? According to your mother, she's been with Daella for years. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"_

" _Yes. It means that for years, we've been having luck. I don't trust her now. Mother can have her if she so desires and of course, I'll pay her handsomely but she isn't to go anywhere near Daella from now on. This isn't her first failure of this kind. I won't be having my daughter shaking with cold and fear in the middle of the Red Keep just because her nursemaid values her own sleep more than Daella's wellbeing." Maekar paused. "But I don't think you summoned me all the way from Summerhall to talk about my household arrangements. So, what is it that you want of me?"_

_A faint movement attracted Daella's notice. Her aunt Aelinor was standing very close to her. Daella had not noticed her coming. She looked up at her, terrified that Aelinor would reveal that she was eavesdropping; but to her surprise, Aelinor only put a finger to her lips and listened intently._

" _I'm going to arrange a new match for you," the King said. "To Lord Tyrell's daughter."_

" _Just as you please."_

_A pause. And then, "Don't you want to know the reasons?"_

" _Why, I already do," Maekar said. "For power and stability, for riches and honours. Why else does one wed?"_

_And all of a sudden, he exploded. "Why this lot should be always mine? You did make me wed once against my will. That's enough! Don't push that feeble-minded Tyrell girl into my bed now. I won't have it."_

" _Lord Tyrell is a dignified and powerful man."_

" _Well, if I were a woman, you could have wed me to him! But his daughter I don't want!"_

_The King sighed. "Don't be obstinate, Maekar. I am not making this decision lightly."_

" _Really?" Maekar's voice was icy. "I am starting to wonder. After all, you can see what's been happening to Aelinor after the other decision that you didn't make likely either."_

_Now, the patience in King Daeron's voice was replaced by iciness that equaled Maekar's. "Don't bring Aelinor in this!"_

" _Why? Because it haunts you, doesn't it? No matter how well you keep the pretension. It haunts you that she's a walking ghost now, that she's a sight…"_

_Daella stepped away in fear. Was her aunt a ghost? Aelinor did not seem to notice her reaction – she was all ears._

" _This has nothing to do with Aelinor," the King spat. "And you'll do as I say, or…"_

" _What?" Maekar challenged. "You'll have me confined in my chambers as you did when I was ten? Didn't work too well even then, now, did it? And to tell you the truth, I'd rather die of old age in my room than take this lackwit to wife. Are you sure she can even understand the meaning of the wedding ceremony?"_

_The King started to say something, then sighed and started again, his voice calm once again. "Listen, Maekar. I don't want to spite you. The last thing I would ever wish upon you is such a marriage. But no one says you have to live with her or even see her after the wedding. I have need of Lord Tyrell."_

" _And I have no need of his daughter. Oh Stranger, why do you take away women like Naeryn and leave others to be a blot on the world? Listen, you can wed her yourself if Mother agrees. But forget about including me. Because I won't wed her."_

_The door opened and closed softly. Somehow, that scared Daella more than if her father had slammed it closed._

_Now, Maekar stared at them. "What are you two doing here?" he asked._

_Hesitantly, Daella asked, "Father, is Aunt Aelinor a ghost?"_

" _Is she…" Maekar repeated and paused. His eyes went to his sister. "Well, those who eavesdrop rarely hear pleasing things about themselves."_

" _I agree," Aelinor replied. "How did you find out, by eavesdropping on me talking about you?"_

_They looked daggers at each other. Then, Maekar leaned over to take Daella. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you to bed. And don't think of what you heard. There is no such thing as ghosts."_

"There is no such thing as ghosts."

Daella frowned. The voice was suddenly no longer her father's. It was familiar but younger. And… arguing?

She opened her eyes. From the two beds in the other end of the room, Daenerys was arguing about something with her unruly son who passionately insisted that he had seen a ghost.

"He was red, Mother, I'm telling you. He was tall, and silent, and red – red robes, red face with no lips. Ghosts have no lips, right? He stared right at me and nodded… And he asked me whether I'd like to visit his temple…"

Daella's skin crawled. Maybe it was because of the dream – a memory so old that it had been long forgotten. But yes, once she, too, had believed in ghosts and giants.

Daenerys noticed that she was awake and started to say something but Daella shook her head. "Is it time to go up?" she asked.

"Not yet," Daenerys said. "It's still night."

Daella turned to the other side and tried to go back to sleep but before she could, the door opened. And what stood in the doorframe was scarier than any ghost.

"Get up, my lady," Aegor Bittersteel said. "You have work to do."

* * *

_A few weeks later…_

"So he fulfilled his threat?" Maekar asked. His face was stony. On the outside, King's Landing had gone silent under the roar of thunderous storm that made children cry out in fear and had the sea raging almost above the protective breakwater. _It fits the news perfectly_ , Maekar thought. The storm raging in his soul was just as horrendous but he could not give free reign to his temper. His world that was already a dark and bitter place had just become a shade darker.

The Master of Whisperers nodded, not quite daring to meet the Prince's eye. No one of the Small Council did. "He did, Your Grace. The Princess lost her gowns. She was dressed in coarse linens and made to clean Bittersteel's chambers and kindle fires in the fireplaces. Even the lowliest handmaidens are allowed to give her orders. She has to carry water, to wash clothes… She isn't very skilful and the people there taunt her constantly."

"Yes," Maekar said. A blue vein throbbed in his pale forehead but his voice stayed the same – low and level. "I imagine she isn't too skilful. So Bittersteel misuses her and taunts her? Is that so?"

"All that is needed for it to end is for her to say that she relents and she'll wed Haegon Blackfyre. Bittersteel hopes to extort her agreement before Haegon returns. Rumours are that the man is deeply in love with Her Grace and wouldn't see her so humiliated, so Bittersteel has to act swift."

"We do, too," Alor Gargalen said. "For while Daella will not relent, Bittersteel might lose his patience and make something truly regrettable."

Maekar shot him a look of irritation. In his book, forcing Daella to labour like a servant was bad enough. But he could understand where Gargalen was coming from. Bittersteel was capable of far worse things than a little humiliation.

Still, there was little to nothing they could do about Daella right now. They had to focus on the crackens instead. Everyone in the council chamber knew that the King was dying and they needed to make preparations about that, too, for the realm was filled with men who would start fighting each other and the crown for every bite of power they could grab, any coin they could lay their hands upon. They would just have to hope that Daella would hold. The other alternative – that she wouldn't – was too terrible to imagine.

"We can lean some support to Pentos," Bloodraven said. "The sooner the war is over, the sooner Haegon will return. We have trust in him to protect the Princess from Bittersteel."

But who could protect her from her protector? And then, there was this other matter that was no less worrying. "What about the boy?" Maekar asked. "Prince Ryon Martell?"

Alor Gargalen leaned forward, his eyes intent.

Now, the spymaster looked even more uncomfortable. "Valedaro of the red temple seems to have caught wind of our negotiations with some of his priests. He's cut the administration of the temple down by almost half. And he's starting visiting with Bittersteel too often. He's taken distinct interest to the boy, questioning about his health and prowess. He even convinced Bittersteel to give the young prince chance to go on with his training in martial arts and he often comes to watch him."

There was a swell of stunned rumours in the small room. Alor Gargalen closed his eyes in horror. Maekar stared right ahead and then looked at the man who had sat through the entire proceedings, not missing anything but not saying a word. "What do you think?"

Ser Galend looked like a man who had just had his worst fear confirmed. "There might be yet another reason for their interest in the boy. I've known the Prince since his birth. He's really extraordinarily gifted."

"That might be so," Maekar acknowledged. "And what of it? You said they want to use him for some ritual to hatch dragon eggs."

"I still stand by it." His oldest companion's olive face was now completely white. "But it isn't so simple any more. For the eggs, they could have waited. After all, the dragons had been gone for more than fifty years. But among the followers of R'hllor, there is a special attitude towards children. They take children from their parents to serve the god. They buy children from the slave market. And sometimes when… "

He fell silent. On the outside, the storm had suddenly stopped, only to howl anew moments later. A lightning shook the earth.

"The breakwater gave way!" someone in the courtyard below shouted and everyone ran for the windows to assess the damage. Only the Hand of the King, Maekar, and Alor Gargalen remained.

"When?" Bloodraven asked, softly. Their recent trials and his inevitable downfall after the King's Death had sharpened his features into gaunter, starker lines. Now, he looked almost inhuman, yet he still managed to keep his tremendous efficiency and work as if he'd be the Hand for the next fifty years, at least, and not dismissed as soon as Maekar took the throne.

"When the red priests," Ser Galend said, his voice ragged. "When they find a child who is perfect in all their abilities…"

"The sea is rising higher!" the Master of Coin cried out.

They didn't even look in his direction.

"They don't have the right… to keep them in this imperfect world of men. They should send them to R'hllor as soon as possible… so they can serve him in the flesh."


	7. Chapter 7

_Three months later…_

He was coming back with a quarter of his people either dead or incapacitated. That had been the harshest war the Golden Company had fought ever since he had unofficially taken the lead from Bittersteel. Actually, he wasn't sure whether it had not been the harshest war since the very founding of the Golden Company. Those blasted Myrish had somehow caught wind of Tyrosh and Pentos' plans to unite against them and had managed to make a contract with both the Second Sons and the Bright Banners. The Golden Company surpassed by far both of those but it could not take them both at the same time. Actually, the fact that the fallen and wounded ones were only a quarter of his army was the best testament to Haegon's military genius. He should feel damned proud for saving so many of his men.

He didn't.

In the bright Essosi sun, he was cooking in his armour. His head throbbed. Fortunately, his helmet muted the curses and moans of his men. Still, each time he removed it to cool his face, they thundered at him, making him feel guilty and weak for bringing this upon his people.

Was it possible that it was what he was born for? Haegon Blackfyre… Haegon Targaryen, he should have been. He should have been enjoying now the comforts of King's Landing, leading victorious wars for the Seven Kingdoms' glory, instead of engaging in small but never ceasing skirmishes that bled his men. In these long days of riding back to Tyrosh, his hatred for those at King's Landing grew: the coward Aerys, the sorcerer Bloodraven, the kinslayer Maekar. One day, he would lead an army against them and crush them, as they should have been crushed twenty-five years ago, at Redgrass Field.

But it would take time. And now, he had to deal with moans and groans, and reforming of the men he still had left. In this moment, the task seemed monumentally hard. The worst thing was, even many of his officers didn't realize that they were lucky to have escaped with so many of their people alive and even winning some minor battles. The discontent within his ranks grew. He could feel it with his body. It was a real miracle that Pentos had managed to wield some support from a fourth sellsword company at the last moment.

When he saw the high spear of the Bleeding Tower in the distance, Haegon gave a long sigh of relief. They were finally home. As much as he detested it, as much as he told himself that his home was Maegor's Holdfast, he felt like going home – to Tyroshi's greed, to Bittersteel's nagging, to the bright colours that could make one's eyes ache. But it was home.

And Daella was there.

He had arranged in advance to have a few buildings fitted for the wounded ones' needs. Priests and women were already waiting to tend them. Those who could walk went there on their own. For the others, there were stretchers. The wounded, though, there were so many of them that a couple of hours passed before everyone could be taken inside. By then, the stretchers had turned red from the blood of all men they had supported. He stayed until he made sure that everyone had a pallet, a blanket and a jug of water. And left before a new wave of screams arose when the harsh treatment began. He had no desire to look at the maimed bodies, the severed limbs and those who needed to be severed now, before the rotting spread further in the bodies.

Terribly tired, Haegon headed for the structure that served as his home and the Golden Company's barracks. He wished for a hot bath and a night of decent sleep. He didn't even care about the meal.

"No," he said impatiently when he finally reached his chambers. "Leave it like this. You can finish the cleaning tomorrow."

The maid-servant who had been dusting off the things in the bedchamber promptly turned away to leave. The last rays of the dying sun fell across her profile, accentuating the chiseled features. Her hair hang in dirty locks but it was as dark as night. Haegon startled, recognizing her.

"Come here," he said.

Reluctantly, she did so, holding her head high. Haegon took in her dress of coarse beige linen, the gaunt face and the film of dust covering it, the limp hair, the darkening of her forearms by explosion to the sun, the corns on her hands and fingers. In fact, she had not been toiling harder than the other handmaidens, it was just that her inexperience had given her lots of small injuries that were hard to heal because she could not stop working. And the corns looked too visible against the overall smoothness of her previously pale skin. Anger and fierce protectiveness overcame him.

"Who dared?" he snarled, stunned and ashamed.

She laughed scornfully. "Can't you guess?"

He blushed. "I'll speak to Bittersteel, my lady. Meanwhile, you can have a bath and your finery. I will…"

"What about my aunt?" she interrupted. "What about my ladies?"

 _What has been happening here while I was away_ , Haegon wondered, furious. _What has he been doing? He spun around._

"Wait," Daella called out.

He turned back. By now, he knew better than expect any gratitude of her. In her eyes, he was probably guilty about her current conditions, too: had he not decided to marry her, Bittersteel would have not tried to break her. "Yes, my lady?"

"They say…" For a moment, her voice faded. "They say my uncle is ill. Is it true? Do you know?"

"Is your father to become King soon, you mean?" he asked.

The young woman stared at him uncomprehendingly and Haegon startled. _She cares about him. This coward, this weak semblance of a man – she loves him anyway._

"They say he's dying," he said bluntly.

Her head went back, as if he had slapped her. Her face went white. "They've been saying the same thing about Ser Aegor for years, yet he's still lingering," she shot back but there were tears in her eyes. Her grief panged him like very few things had ever done.

He left to make things clear with Bittersteel, thinking that he'd never know what he needed to do to see this concern in Daella's eyes when she was thinking about him.

* * *

The room stank of death. It was strange how Aelinor never noticed it in the long hours, days sometimes, that she spent here but when she left, even for an hour, it washed over her like a wave at her return. Maybe I've just become used to it, she thought. Sometimes, she lost count of the months and weeks since Aerys' illness had started progressing to the last stage.

There were a few candles left but they did little to diffuse the twilight in the royal bedchamber. Aerys was in his bed, half-propped against pillows, for he could not take breath otherwise. Even without looking at him, Aelinor knew his face was waxy. His arms were hidden by the bedcover – he was always cold now, despite the fact that it was so hot in the room that Aelinor immediately felt her blood rising in protest. Maekar was just placing a hot stone near Aerys' feet before returning to the chair he and Aelinor had been taking in turns for the last weeks. Aerys would never say it but it was clear that he felt better when it was one or the other of them attending him, so they took turns, from supporting his head to drink to helping him remove his nightclothes for his natural body functions.

Aelinor came near the bed. Each step was a torture but she tried not to show it. "It's too dark," she said. "Do you want me to light more candles? You cannot read in this darkness."

Aerys shook his head, very slightly. Her heart fell to her heels. Aerys not wanting to read? The end was so, so very near. She sat down on the bed and took his hand, unwilling to make Maekar rise from his chair to give it to her. Then, she looked at him. "Go to sleep," she said. "Or you will fall asleep in your saddle tomorrow."

"I am fine," he said but he did not sound convincing because he wasn't.

Usually, candlelight was benign to people but not to him. Not tonight. The faint light illuminated the lines around his mouth and eyes, the slack skin of his face, the dulled glow of his violet eyes, the dark bags under them. The tension and lack of rest were claiming him. Aelinor shivered. _We're getting old,_ she thought. They were, with all pains and sorrows of old age. Once, Maekar had been able to go on a couple of hours of sleep every night for weeks and then be completely adequate and in control in the day and even fight a battle but it was no longer so. Sure, he was still strong and vigorous but he grew tired more easily and his strength and power of endurance were not what they had used to be. Blue veins protruded under his fair skin. Aelinor closed her eyes and suddenly wanted to weep. He would leave tomorrow to lead an army against the Greyjoys – and she was scared that he would not be up to it. He could lose. He could _die_. For the first time since he had started taking part in battles, she doubted his ability to pull it through. For the first time, his death looked like a real possibility.

"Have a rest," she said softly. "You don't look good. And you need every bit of strength you can muster. I'll take it from here."

He hesitated. Aelinor could only assume what a sight _she_ was if he was so reluctant to let her resume her attending of Aerys.

"We heard from Tyrosh today," Maekar said and she listened intently. "Haegon returned. Daella, Daenerys, and the rest were given a bath immediately and their own gowns back. He's quite insistent that she marries him immediately."

Aelinor sighed with both relief and concern. She was pleased that her niece was finally getting a proper treatment and she was scared of what Haegon might do. She knew that Maekar shared her fears. He would not say it because somehow, that would make it more real and besides, their most immediate problem were the krakens. _Daella has to wait,_ was all he had said that first and only time. Still, he needed to talk about her and Aelinor was always willing to listen, give him the little help she could. Not that it would assuage the guilt he was feeling, of course…

Finally, he rose from his seat. "I'll go to my chambers now," he said. "Will I see the two of you tomorrow?" he asked, although he knew Aerys would be sleeping under the effect of the milk of poppy.

"Most certainly," Aelinor said. In Aerys' absence, it fell to her to see the army off.

That was not what Maekar was asking, though. She pretended not to understand. She merely didn't have the strength to bear a bid of farewell right now and he didn't press her.

"If I don't see you tomorrow," Aerys said, "don't forget to bring a kraken if you come across one. The children will be thrilled."

Maekar smirked. "None of the children is named Aerys, as far as I know."

The King chuckled weakly. "You've caught me," he admitted. "Still, bring me one if you can. I've always wanted to see one."

"I will," Maekar promised and leaned over. Painfully, Aerys took his hand out from beneath the cover. The two hands – one so frail that it looked like it would break any moment now and the other strong, capable of killing with a single blow – touched.

"What a shame we were born in the wrong sequence," Aerys murmured and closed his eyes in an exhausted slumber.

Aelinor started to rise to see Maekar off to the door but he shook his head. "Stay where you are, for the Mother's sake," he said. "Don't overstrain yourself with caring for him while I'm away. Have someone help you. I'll come back as soon as I can."

"Just come back," Aelinor replied, not sure that she would be able to take it if she had to suffer one final loss. Because they both knew Aerys would die long before Maekar came back.


	8. Chapter 8

_A month later…_

There had been many years since Alor Gargalen first boarded a ship. He had been accompanying his bastard uncle then and he had not seen eight namedays yet. Ever since then, sea had caught him in its thrall. From scrubbing the hold to loading the weapons, from running with manual errands to commanding a ship of his own – he had gone all the way. There had been murmurs when he had been given a ship of his own some ten years earlier that was usual in the Dornish fleet – but those had not lasted past the first two voyages when he had proved quite capable of holding his own against pirates and his own unruly crew.

And now, it had come to the moment when he was fighting the most desperate battle of his life. It was not the plan and he could cost everyone on board their lives – but they had not been to know that Dagon Greyjoy's own _Iron Fist_ would be at the head of the fleet chasing them. Their original plan was a good one – but now Alor had the chance to deliver the iron lord to the shore with almost no chance to escape through a hole in the fleet that lay in ambush nearby. And as fierce as the ironborn were, Alor had had the chance to observe them for years and notice that their success was not due so much to their numbers and experience but their lord's quickness of mind. If Dagon Greyjoy fell, the ironborn would lose their zeal. Their raids would be finished; if he lived, there would be always the chance of a new resurrection.

"Hard to starboard, Green Hill!"

"Hard to – " the young helmsman repeated, stunned. With this course, they would find themselves right in front of the bow of the _Iron Fist_ , within range of the ironborn's arrows. Worse yet, not far away there was a cay right in front of the nearest of the Shield Island – straight in the course the captain wanted to send them in. They would be stuck aground. _He's gone mad._ The young man was gripped by such fear that he could not move a muscle.

"Hard to starboard!" Alor roared again.

The young man gathered himself and looked at the old hand working on the lee sails who nodded. Now it wasn't the time to question the captain's orders! Green Hill steered the ship in the course ordered.

"Stand on!" Alor yelled when the _Silver Lady_ 's bow made a sharp turn into the wind.

Just as he had expected, the _Iron Fist_ that had been trying to intercept the _Silver Lady_ 's course, followed her, thinking that Alor had it in mind to escape between the cay and the land to the north, for pleading with Lord Oakheart for help would be a damned uncertain job. Crakehall would be a better choice – and they had no intention of letting him go there and press them between his ship, Crakehall's men, and the other ships that were trying to catch up with them.

"Turn back! Hold tight!" Alor roared and followed his own command just before his ship shook with a hard scraping noise. Several members of the crew gaped over the railing at the razor-sharp teeth of the corals just beneath them. The water was so clear that they could actually see their bright crystal colours. The _Silver Lady_ touched the ground and someone swore, startled, but she went on without any apparent damage. Alor barely refrained from wiping the sweat off his forehead _. Thank the Warrior! I did it!_ The longstanding enmity between Dorne and the House Oakheart was coming in handy, just this once! Like almost all captains in the Dornish fleet, Alor was well acquainted with the specifics of everything within fifty miles of Old Oak's coast.

"What should I signal to the others?" the flagman asked.

Alor turned back and narrowed his eyes to have a better look at the other two ships of the Seven Kingdom's fleet. "Nothing," he said. "They are well behind and they won't get caught in…"

"… the deception!" Green Hill finished gleefully, for he had finally realized what his captain had wanted all along.

The ironborn, still looking at the _Silver Lady_ 's trail, were a moment too slow to realize it, too. They were already aground. Their angle across the cay was not so sharp and their heavy longship waded more deeply. The Dornish ship's course had been just along the outer rim of the cay – but the ironborn were sent right into it. The deception had worked. Now they had room to maneuver – and save themselves from what they were about to unleash.

"Start flashing a signal out," Alor said.

"What should it say?" the flagman asked.

Alor smiled coldly. _"Destroy."_

* * *

"What are they doing?"

From the castle of House Serry in the Southshield Maekar had half a mind to retort that they had gotten the wrong man, that the one who was supposed to have a thousand eyes and one had stayed at King's Landing and that _he_ only had two, so he had just about as much as idea of what Gargalen intended to do as they did – but that would be letting his own worry show. He had no idea what was going on, only that the boy was deviating from the plan they had designed so elaborately.

His second thought was to snap that what they were doing was, seemingly, committing a suicide, for the ironborn would hardly lend them a helping hand when they ran aground… which they were bound to do…

… and which they didn't.

It all happened so fast that Maekar thought he was imagining it. At the last moment, when the _Fair Lady_ , or whatever her name was, was about to plunge her bow into the sands and get stuck, the crew turned her back on her original course – and only a few minutes later, the first of the ironborn's ships shook, stuck true and well into the sands.

"She won't get free so fast," the Master of Ships said with professional air after giving her a long examining look. "And she is… I'll be damned if she isn't…"

"What?" Maekar asked, trying to contain his impatience. Just like his sister, Danil Velaryon was a gentle, soft-spoken man but he was a hard one to shake with a raised voice and royal demands – again like his sister.

"She's the _Iron Fist_ ," Lord Danil announced, triumph in his voice.

Maekar peeked over but he could not read the name, she was too far. Danil, with his sharp sight of a marine, though, looked sure. "Dagon's own flagship?"

"Aye," Danil confirmed. "Ah, they're _finally_ flashing out a signal. It's good to know what in the seven hells is going on."

Even Danil's sharp eyes had their limits. They had no idea what was going on beyond the horizon. They could only read the signal.

" _Destroy_?" Maekar said in astonishment, as if he was asking whether he had heard correctly.

"Wildfire," the Master of Ships said immediately. "There is no other way to destroy a ship from the shore."

There were no ships on the horizon, though. "Wildfire, my lord?" Lord Serry asked and Maekar could not truly blame him for the concern in his voice.

He turned to look at Ser Galend. The knight slowly nodded that ships on the horizon or not, he trusted Alor Gargalen's judgment. Maekar looked at Danil.

The Master of Ships was wrapping a curl of his silvery hair around his finger. _Naeryn did that when she was deep in thought_ , Maekar thought. His thoughts had been drifting at his late wife a lot lately. Aerys' impeding death brought back the painful memories of everyone else he had loved and lost. And of all members of House Velaryon, Danil was the one who was closest to Naeryn in manners and temper.

"The boy did send Greyjoy into the sand headfirst," the Master of Ships finally said. "I say we trust him and follow his call. But we don't know how much ships there are. We shouldn't waste too much wildfire on the _Iron Fist_ when…"

"We won't be losing any wildfire on her at all," Maekar said. "Dagon Greyjoy has been rejoicing in fighting on his terms – and then fleeing into the sea when he saw us coming. This time, there will be no fleeing."

"Look!" Lord Serry called out. "They are coming!"

The other longships had been far enough astern to see the _Fair Lady_ 's deception and avoid the cay. Now they cluttered the horizon. There was no time to lose.

"Fire the wildfire," Maekar ordered and looked at the others. "My lord Velaryon, you'll stay here and direct the catapults. You will have three people to assist you, of your choosing."

Danil nodded and without hesitation said the names of three men Maekar knew as quite capable and determined. "I'll signal the port to send out ships around the island," he said. "To help Lord Gargalen in his pursuit."

 _Hmm_ , Maekar thought as he was giving the orders for the attack he intended to lead in person. _So it's Lord Gargalen now, it it? Danil has a newfound respect for him, one sea snake for another. Maybe Daella's choice will have some advantages for the Seven Kingdoms, as well. Who would have thought?_

He had the feeling that Naeryn would have liked Alor Gargalen, too.

He was already on the shore when he heard the deafening crack of catapults. The fireballs crashed down. Longships burst in flames in front of his eyes. They were too far away for him to hear the howls of pain, fear, and fury, but he imagined them quite vividly. He could feel the futile anger and helplessness of the captains, the horror of the dying men.

Alor Gargalen turned the _Fair Lady_ – no, it looked like she was _silver_ , not _fair_ , as far as Maekar could see – back, barring the route for escape. Far against the horizon, their other ships barred the other route. Any moment now, the rest of their fleet would appear from behing the island to support Alor, enclosing the ironborn in the quarter of sea that was now reigned by wildfire.

Streams of curses and roars shook the stranded the _Iron Fist_. Maekar saw the men pouring out of her and smiled. He had often wished he could slay Dagon Greyjoy in single combat. He had never actually thought that he would have the chance.

* * *

_Late at night…_

"Are you sure you don't want a maester?"

Maekar looked at Ser Galend and shook his head. "What can he do? Give me some milk of poppy? I can do without." He scowled and forced his hand to stay away from where his breastplate had cut into his chest severely. "Greyjoy was strong, I'll give him that."

"It was never his strength that was in question…" Ser Galend murmured.

It was late in the night and the Southshield slept after the tumultuous affairs of the day. Maekar couldn't sleep, though. He had defended the kingdom but that meant that now his thoughts had time to lead him to those who still needed help, those he couldn't support – Daella in Tyrosh, Aerys and Aelinor in King's Landing…

In the port, a few silhouettes roamed aboard the _Fair Lady_. She would sail in three days time, as soon as she was loaded with provisions – and then Alor Gargalen could start making the next steps in rescuing the woman who haunted his thoughts, as well as Maekar's own. _My precious one._ Maekar would never say it aloud but out of all his children, Daella was his secret favourite. She evoked his most protective instincts, for there was no malice in her when she would have been better off if there was. She was too gentle for her own good. And that made her vulnerable. That kindness – she had not inherited it from him. It was Naeryn in her – and while Maekar had loved this about his wife, in his daughter it scared him. Baratheon had proved his fears right. _And I could not even kill him as he deserved_ , Maekar thought bitterly.

The pale stars illuminated the wreckage that only a few hours ago had been the Iron Fleet. In the first moments after their victory, Maekar had felt elated; now, he only felt tired. So very tired. It was not enough to destroy; they now had to rebuild. Not strong Iron Islands, for that would be asking for trouble, but rebuilt anyway. The Iron Islands. The coastline of the North. The coastline of the Westernlands. Riverlands… And while the main part of the war had ended in a day, rebuilding would take decades.

Flapping of wings made both men look up from their chairs at the deck-roof. Dark wings carried a dark shape that became clear only when it entered the circle of light cast by the lanterns in the bailey. A raven. Despite the late hour, an old wrinkled hand rattled a window open.

Maekar and Galend looked at each other, suddenly pale and tense. They were not superstitious but these days, ravens rarely brought good news.

Soon enough, the old maester of the castle climbed up the stairs. He bowed and headed for Maekar to give him a letter. Maekar shook his head, barely visibly, and Ser Galend stood in the way and held out a hand. "Give me the missive," he said and took notice of the dragon seal. "I'll give it to His Grace."

The bald man in too wide a robe gave Maekar a hesitant look. He nodded and the maester retreated.

Ser Galend gave Maekar a questioning look and after another nod, read the letter in the light of the torch they had lit up when they had first come up.

Maekar looked at him silently. He already knew what he would hear – the silence of the knight, the tight setting of his jaw, the deep sigh were all signs he had learned to read thirty years ago.

"It's from the Queen Dowager," Ser Galend said simply.

"I know," Maekar replied without reaching out to take it.

"Do you want me to go?"

"No," Maekar said at once but for the hours that followed, he didn't address his companion even once. He might have well forgotten about his presence. He just sat in his chair silent, staring out into the night, estranged from all his surroundings.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Riana1, for all your comments. You are a great help in preserving my desire to write.

_A month later…_

Some of the new recruitments in the Golden Company did not take well to the heats of Tyrosh, especially those who had recently come from Westeros or the north of the coastline. Mornings weren't this bad and late evenings brought up some fresh salty whiff from the sea but noon and mid-afternoon were the times where the older men at-arms could have their fun at watching the newcomers going to sleep in their saddles or sliding right off them in a heat-induced faints. Dysenteric bowels and headaches brought up by the sun were an everyday occurrence that no one paid notice to. Men had to learn to survive in the heat first and do something later.

That was why many eyes were drawn – some with amusement, other with downright hostility – at the very young rider who took to practicing his martial skills every mid-afternoon, of all times! The swear pouring off him didn't seem to discomfit him in the slightest – he just wiped it off with his sleeve and went on.

Daella had heard much of the famous skill Dornishmen had in riding, about their unsurpassed light cavalry. In those weeks since she had started watching the young Ryon Martell practice, she had come to realize how hard Dornishmen worked to achieve this mastery.

She had heard the boy complaining that the horse he had been given here was no match for the sand steed he was accustomed to; his mother had snapped that they were not in Sunspear and were, in fact, very far away from sand steed but Ryon could ask Bittersteel for one if he so wished. Predictably, he hadn't.

Still, he had become used to the chestnut gelding he had been accorded, if the way he leaned against him stroking his head and talking to him was a sign. Then, he jumped on the animal's back without making use of the small mounting block – a sight that still made Daella tremble. What would happen if the horse shifted? She exhaled as soon as she saw Ryon safe on the wide back gleaming dark against the bright sunlight.

In the beginning, he made the gelding go at a foot pace. When they made a full circle around the training yard, he gave a fierce cry, making the animal switch to full gallop. Daella knew what was about to follow but she could not help but be impressed at the boy's fluid movements – he looked as if he were fused to the horse and at the same time, he looked as if he would go flying to the sky any moment now, so weightless he seemed. And so tiny on the huge animal. The men of the Golden Company who were dawdling about started poking each other and pointing at him, as if they were watching a dancing bear or something equally interesting. He paid them no mind, focused on his practice. He took the double-curved bow from his shoulder, drew it tight, and aimed at a narrow wooden column at the other end of the training yard, sending the arrow straight in the centre. Some of the men murmured appreciatively. Then, he clasped his legs around the horse belly, or at least what part of it he could reach, drew the small sword he had been given – Daella still couldn't find explanation for _this_ generosity – and started making motions with his entire body, motions that were meant to make him invulnerable for enemy weapon and invincible with his own.

Daella thought he was very impressive; Daenerys, though, frowned. "He needs partners," she said. "And master at-arms. He repeats what he already knows and perfects it but it's started boring him."

The boy still looked pretty impressive to Daella. She wondered whether Alor had been like this as a child. She could see him with her mind's eye, dark-haired and resolute, intent to master all the skills a Dornish man at-arms should have and many more.

Daenerys' sharp intake of breath startled her, pulling her out of her daydreaming. Now, she saw that Ryon was trying to lean on his side and draw a line in the dirt with the blade but the horse was too big and his grip over the animal's belly was not tight enough. He slid down and the horse neighed, as if worried.

Daenerys' hands grabbed the railing of their terrace, her knuckles turning white. To Daella's enormous relief, Ryon came around only a minute later, struggled to his feet, and led the horse out of the training yard. Some of the men laughed. He paid them no mind.

Daella expected that Daenerys would rush to her son's side to make sure he was fine but the older woman stayed where she was, the relief slowly returning the colour to her face. It was only now that Daella realized how fair-skinned Daenerys truly was, easily as fair-skinned as Daella herself. Dornish sun had given her complexion a touch of pale gold that had dissipated now, when she spent most of her time indoors.

Daenerys noticed her eyes and smiled faintly. "You cannot protect a man by making him weak," she said. "Making men out of her sons – that's a mother's duty." She patted Daella's hand. "You'll find it out soon enough."

_Will I?_ Daella wondered. As much as she wanted to keep faith, with the troubles her family was facing in Westeros and her uncle's illness, she knew she was nowhere near the top of their priorities. She had to rebuff Haegon's advances on her own.

For a while, Daenerys stayed where she was before sighing. "Well, I think I can now safely go to him." She drew back. "Don't stay here for too long," she warned. "We don't want these men to think you had started to mellow."

Daella looked away. She could not admit to herself, let alone Daenerys that she _had_ started to mellow. As much as she told herself that she couldn't really expect her family to give up on everything else and rush to her rescue, she could not help but feel that they had deserted her… again. There was always something more important than she was. To Aegon, it had been Rhae; to her father, it had been the realm. It still was. Daella had no doubt that had her husband not died in battle, she would have still been wed to him, helpless to his violence every night. She still had her hopes staked on Alor but there had been months since she had last seen him. Sometimes, she had to look at his half-brother to remind herself of what he looked like – his face was a blur to her. Haegon was young and handsome. Gallant and generous. And he said he loved her. It was hard to repeatedly ignore someone who said they loved you. Was he sincere? She did not doubt his feelings. It was herself that she doubted. And it was Bittersteel she feared.

A cold hand touched hers. She startled but stifled her cry. One of the handmaidens looked at her with wide eyes, a tiny slip of a girl who managed to hide behind Daella from the eyes of the man in the training yard with no problem at all. "My lady," she uttered. "My mistress wishes to see you immediately. She says it's urgent."

Daella startled once again. Her mistress? Ever since they had arrived here, the only other women they saw were the ones the Golden Company hired for a night or two. "Who is your mistress?"

The girl bit her lip. Daella didn't remember her from her own time as a servant. It was plausible that she'd be a chambermaid to one of the women in this self-titled court.

"She wants to see you, my lady," the girl repeated, helplessly. "She says it's urgent."

She clearly didn't know anything more. Daella brushed a hand over her brow to wipe the sweat off and turned back to follow her up the hallway, down a narrow staircase, through a marble courtyard, and a series of empty chambers and corridors. Finally, the girl opened the door of a spacious chamber furnished with a big hearth, a few tables, upholstered chairs, lots of cushions, a settee, and various painted coffers. The panel-work was wood, the curtain in front of the window glittered with golden stars. This was the room of a privileged person.

When Daella reached the middle of it, she stopped and squinted at the woman seated on the settee. The bright Tyroshi sunlight illuminated her sunken eyes, the slackened skin and the terribly gaunt body beneath her rich mauve gown. Her hair was auburn, and grey, her lips thin and dry, her fingers skeleton-like. Only her huge green eyes spoke of beauty that once must have been unsurpassed. "You've sent for me, my lady," Daella said levelly.

To her surprise, the woman rose and came near to have a better look at Daella's face. The young woman shuddered under the hunger in those bright clear eyes. "Yes," the woman said and stepped back. "That I did." She paused. "Would you take a seat?"

Daella silently did so.

"Would you care for a drink?" the woman asked.

"No, thanks."

The woman returned to the settee and looked at Daella again. "You would not know it," she said, "but I've been watching you for a very long time."

Daella still had no idea what all this was about. "No," she agreed. "I didn't know it."

"I had to make sure for myself. I've heard of you, you know, long before you came to us. Most people say you're just like Naeryn Velaryon. She was a kind and gracious woman. I am pleased that you take after her."

"You've known my mother?" Daella was now truly baffled.

"I lived in your parents' household for a few years when I was young." The woman sighed. "Ah, those were dire times for me but your mother was so very kind to me. They both were."

Daella's confusion grew. _They both were?_ She loved her father dearly but _so very kind_ were certainly not the words anyone else but the family would describe him with. No, in fact even the family wouldn't.

The woman nodded. "Each in their own way. But never mind that now." She gave Daella a long look. "I don't suppose you'll know my name?"

Daella shook her head.

"I am Silviana Blackfyre."

Daella gave her a blank look; a moment later, she blushed furiously and the woman laughed. "Ah don't look so embarrassed, my lady. I am quite used to it. When people talk about my husband, they tend to forget that he _was_ my husband. In fact, I am glad to see that you remembered I existed."

The last words didn't sound quite merrily. Daella felt a surge of desperate sympathy. It was true, in the stories and murmurs about Daemon Blackfyre and his doomed love for Daenerys people barely bothered to remember that he had had a wife at the time.

"I didn't call you here to talk about the past," Silviana said. "Or about my son, if that is what's bothering you."

It was. Daella looked aside, not willing to insult a mother's feelings. "Then why am I here?" she asked.

"We need to talk about the boy," Silviana said. "Ryon Martell. He's in danger."

"No," Daella said. "He just fell off his horse, that's all."

"I know," Silviana said. "And maybe that fall is what will buy him some time. Had he not shown that he was not invulnerable to failure, the red priests would have sacrificed him only four days from now on."

* * *

_A week later…_

The King's chambers were almost abandoned. Despite the summer hear, it became quite cold in the evening within those massive stone walls and the small fire in one of the two great hearths crackled – the only sound to break the silence. A chambermaid came in to light a few lamps but Aelinor waved her off. Curtsying, the girl left, looking uncertainly around. No doubt she wondered what the Queen Dowager was up to. Aelinor was only too aware of the many hooded eyes examining her, all the rumours trailing after her like faithful dogs since the day Maekar had brought her to his chambers, only a few days after his less than splendid coronation, to live with her as if she were his wife, although neither of them had bothered to ask for the Faith's blessing.

The only light in the bedchamber came from the fire and that was good – it relieved the terrible headache that had forced Aelinor to leave the evening feast too early. The last months that she had spent caring for Aerys had finally started to catch up with her. She didn't want anything as much as a good sleep – but she was too afraid to go to bed alone. They would all come back – her parents, Baelor, Aerys… Everyone. Even Naeryn would come to judge her. All her fears, all her vulnerabilities would encroach on her.

She went to the window, stared at the dry moat. Even through the closed window, she could hear the faint echo of music flowing all the way to Maegor's Holdfast. She could imagine the festivities beyond. Maekar's coronation had given everyone leave to shed the mourning for the late king as if Aerys had never existed. She imagined the scents of flowers and trees in the garden… The music. The whispers of the nights and the couples stealing to hidden corners… She remembered a time of even greater laughter and merriment, of people flickering down the hallways like fireflies. She had been one of them, in her magnificent gowns, adorned with fantastic jewels – the King's daughter, one of the most desired women at court, the object of love and lust of many, the object of hatred and envy of even more. There had been time when wars had been just a bad memory, when the Iron Throne had been occupied by her great father, with his keen intelligence and iron will – a long gone time of dreams.

"Why are you standing alone in the dark?"

She whirled about, her heart racing before remembering that, of course, Maekar would come here. It was now his bedchamber… as well as hers. "I was just thinking."

He came near. "What were you thinking about?"

"Of a time long gone. Of how it used to be. Of us."

He didn't make the mistake of thinking that she was referring to their own, private past. Instead, he reached for her and she pressed her head against his shoulder. For a while, they stood like this, he still in his finery, she in her nightgown already. It was chilling to think that they were the last remains of Daeron and Myriah's happy, numerous family. All storms and winds had blown over them, each taking whatever it could…

Aelinor drew back and looked up at him. "You're early," she said.

He raised a silver eyebrow. "And here I thought that feast would never end."

She smiled a little. It was true, he had little liking for formal occasions and his bluntness did little to help. Worse yet, haughty and stern as he was, he was, in fact, painfully awkward around people he didn't really have much to talk about with. With age, his skills for maintaining empty conversations had become worse, instead of better, so he'd happily miss on all those receptions Aelinor so liked. Of course, he'd have to double them now, instead…

"Why?" she asked and laughed a little. "I thought you'd rather like at least a certain aspect of it… the presence of a horde of young women."

He forced a smile, too. Despite her best efforts, he had heard the uncertainty in her voice. It was true, the parade of potential royal mistresses had already started. Lords and courtiers were in a hurry to push their most beautiful daughters at him, reckoning that young maidens were better than an aging, lame queen and the King would surely see that. He had never thought that Aelinor might feel threatened but to his surprise, she did, as much as she tried to hide it. She was aging; she had spent more than thirty years with a husband who had never desired her. To Maekar, those slip of girls various ambitious men tried to push to him were just that – slip of girls; to Aelinor, they were a reminder of what she had been and no longer was. "What would I do with a young woman?" he asked.

Now, she laughed for real. "I remember a time when you didn't need to ask!" she said and starting working on his clothes, taking them off. He readily cooperated. In fact, he found her explorations of him, as if he were her plaything, endearing… and entertaining. The kiss she placed against a pale silver scar almost over his heart made him shiver. _How close you came_ , he heard her say without actually saying it. _How very close._

"Yes," he agreed. "The time when I was young too. Please, I barely… What's this?"

She turned around, surprised. He was looking at the gown spread on their bed. His eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me it's yours?"

Aelinor went to lift the fine satin. Her eyes stayed on the low neck that had attracted his notice. "Of course not," she said. "At my age? No, it's Rhae's. She intends to wear it with Naeryn's amethysts."

"Rhae's?" Maekar repeated. "Aegon is going to let her wear this?"

Aelinor was now quite amused. She gave him a coy look. "Actually, he quite likes her in it."

"He would," Maekar said darkly.

Her smile grew wider. He was so sincerely disgusted. "Come on," she said. "You were once this young, remember?"

"I remember you when you were this young," he replied. "And I remember some of your gowns. I also remember…" He paused and looked away.

"What?" she insisted.

He laughed. "I remember some of Father's comments about them! And how I used to look at him and think that he was so, so old."

For now, peace was restored, doubts and insecurities were laid to rest – until it was time for them to go to their bed, at least. Maekar noticed how she took care to climb in without lifting her nightgown. Even now, after she had moved in with him, when everyone knew that she was his wife in all but name, when the Kingsguard on duty saw her entering his bedchamber early in the evening and leaving late in the morning – even now she would not let him see her, scared that her deformation would repulse him.

He sighed and followed, feeling more weary and hopeless than even before. He had now risen above everyone else in the Seven Kingdoms – and he was a captive of the Iron Throne, leaving Daella for others to save, unable to make Aelinor feel secure. _I got my punishment_ , he thought and drew Aelinor near, finding a small comfort in the knowledge that when he would lift her nightgown up later, she wouldn't try to stop him from feeling the twisted hip, getting some better idea of what she was going through. She had this much trust in him, at least.

 


End file.
